


Thirty-Six Minutes

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-09
Updated: 2008-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's thoughts while Owen is underwater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty-Six Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://jadesfire2808.livejournal.com/profile)[**jadesfire2808**](http://jadesfire2808.livejournal.com/).

Jack was still sitting in his cramped office when Toshiko called. In a tight voice that barely covered her panic, she told him that Owen had torn out of his apartment after blowing up at her just seconds earlier. He was exceedingly distressed, she'd said, and she was terrified he would do something stupid.

Jack grabbed his greatcoat and left the office before Tosh finished, just noting the concerned, if puzzled, glances of Ianto, Martha, and Gwen.

"It'll be okay, Toshiko," Jack assured, even as he fidgeted on the lift up to the street. "I'll find him."

Until Martha figured out what Owen was, besides not alive, Jack couldn't risk keeping him on staff. He'd sent Owen home after relieving him of duty, telling him to watch TV--to chill--because he didn't know what else to say to a walking dead man. It had been woefully inadequate--but Jack only knew how to deal with eternal life. Not eternal death.

Jack had a good idea where Owen was headed, so he turned towards the Cardiff pier and broke into a sprint. For all his professed cynicism, Owen was drawn to the pier like a gull to the sea. More than once Jack had found him there, in sun, cloud, or rain, leaning on the wooden rail to stare at the boats entering and leaving the harbour. Jack rarely invaded his privacy, sensing that this was where Owen preferred to think. He hoped he was right this time--that Owen was simply mulling over his unique predicament.

He reached the pier, and skidded to a stop on the planks, just a few metres from the end--just in time to watch Owen leap off the edge and into the air.

"OWEN--!"

Jack reached out as if to yank him back, but he was too far away. His scream was covered by the resounding splash of Owen's body hitting the water.

Jack ran to the edge, to see only ripples and a few bubbles marring the surface of the murky water. He glanced at his watch reflexively to note the time and shrugged off his greatcoat, intending to dive in and haul Owen out by the scruff of his neck. It had been only a few seconds, he could get to Owen before he drowned--

But Owen couldn't drown. And that thought stopped him cold.

He blinked, staring down at the water. He couldn't see Owen in the depths--he might have sunk to the bottom by now. He could still go after him, but Owen would probably fight. Owen would have to decide to come out by himself, he thought ruefully.

Jack picked up his greatcoat, which had landed in a heap just centimetres away from the side rail. He put it back on, then, like Owen a thousand times before him, leaned on the rail to wait. All day and all night, if necessary.

The breeze blew the hair back from his face, bringing with it sea salt and the acrid smell of diesel fumes. The sky was cloudy, threatening to split open at any time. Jack looked up at the gulls screeching down the pier, looking for stray bits of food left by the tourists.

Two minutes had already passed, during which the ripples had dissipated, leaving no sign that someone had jumped in. A boat was gearing up to sail out of the harbour, and Jack watched its slow passage. He could see the appeal the pier held for a man like Owen Harper--a man who lived and breathed adventure as his forefathers had likely done, setting out for faraway lands with their promises of treasure. Though Owen's search was more for the treasure. Alien things. Alien life and technology, at the frontiers of the unknown.

Five minutes now, and Jack shook his head to clear it. Here he was, he thought, romanticising Owen's motives for working at Torchwood. Owen would probably scoff at it, and he'd be right to do so. Aliens were landing every day, and so far, despite Jack's hopes, they seemed to prefer conquest rather than cooperation. They battled the aliens more than formed alliances. Maybe Owen was drawn to the fight instead.

At any rate, Owen was committed to Torchwood, so dedicated that he gave up his life for it--

Jack flinched. He did not want to go down this trail. He'd been trying to avoid it, hiding behind the paperwork and surface details to deal with Owen's situation. Now he had ample time to think. Of why. He stared down at the water.

Why had he brought Owen back?

The first, and superficial, reason was that he needed information. Owen did have the combination to the vault, and they did need that. After all, they had brought back Suzie last year because they needed her to figure out the reasons behind her support group killings.

Though Suzie had almost killed Gwen in the process.

But Suzie had ultimately died, and he could have resigned Owen to that same fate.

Jack had always felt a keen responsibility for his team. He tried to protect them, from aliens, from themselves--from him--at all costs. But he couldn't protect Owen from the professor. Of all the ways to go: a needless gunshot wound at the hands of a madman that Owen had idolised.

Ten minutes. Owen's death had been senseless. Twenty-seven years old. Far too young. Jack looked up again, his eyes narrowing in the breeze. He should have stopped Owen from trying to negotiate. He could have stepped in, taken the bullet.

But it had happened so fast, no one could have predicted it.

It wasn't bloody fair.

Fairness. Jack sniffed, ignoring the gulls circling overhead. All things considered, he'd died too. Rose had brought him back to life--eternal life, as he'd learned later. But at least he'd died for a noble cause, fighting for the Doctor against the Daleks. Owen hadn't, not really.

He was close to one hundred seventy years old now. A long time, much of it alone. He'd learned, though. How to fight, how to negotiate. And with Ianto, Gwen, Tosh and Owen, he had molded an elite unit--

He had built a family, he thought with a shock. A real family.

Owen was family. He was the annoying, rebellious younger brother who questioned everything, just because. The one who always asked "Why?" even when there was no answer.

Fifteen minutes, and still no sign of Owen surfacing. Jack had had a younger brother. There was no way Owen was a stand-in for Grae. But--but. Owen was frustrating to deal with at times: always challenging Jack's authority, a wiseacre--who hid a deep insecurity under a patina of cocky assurance. Much like Jack himself, in younger days.

And fiercely, fiercely loyal. Protective to a fault. Owen would spar with Gwen, Tosh and Ianto, but when it came down to it, he'd kill for them. He'd die for them. And he had--

Jack needed Owen. He needed Owen to remind him of who he was.

And because of his need, now he'd condemned the man to something worse than death. Worse than eternal life, even.

"Damn it," Jack whispered through gritted teeth. His eyes stung, but not from the salt air. "Damn it."

The view in front of him shimmered; Jack hung his head, his shoulders shaking. He'd brought Owen back because he wasn't ready to lose that part of himself yet. He hadn't considered what Owen needed. He'd done the cruelest thing possible to Owen--because of his own selfishness. And Owen would pay for that until his body finally broke down to dust.

Well, he got what he wanted, didn't he? A continuing reminder of himself?

Didn't Jack always get what he wanted?

He had to make this up to Owen. Something he would never be able to do, but he would have to try. He owed that much to him, at least.

He swiped at the wetness on his face with his fist. It was now close to twenty-three minutes underwater. Part of him wanted to dive in now, to start the reparations. But Owen wouldn't want that. Maybe the best way to start, he figured, was to let Owen figure it out for himself. Be there when Owen was ready to talk.

And also give Owen something to do around Torchwood until he was cleared for duty again. That, at least, he could do right away.

By the time Owen surfaced, Jack's face was dry, and he was back under control. He glanced at his watch when Owen, looking like a drowned rat, climbed back onto the pier.

"Thirty-six minutes," Jack announced. Thirty-six minutes, and hopefully a new beginning.


End file.
